


Nobody's Perfect

by Covenmouse



Series: Dancing on Wires [3]
Category: Mass Effect
Genre: Gen, ME3 Spoilers
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2012-08-16
Updated: 2012-08-16
Packaged: 2017-11-12 06:20:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 981
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/487681
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Covenmouse/pseuds/Covenmouse
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A collection of Miranda-centric drabbles exploring her character through interconnected drabbles.  All drabbles take place in the "Dancing on Wires" verse, at various points in time.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Nobody's Perfect

With Oriana safely asleep in what passed for the M2-89’s “crew quarters,” Miranda was finally alone in the cockpit. Not that the ship really needed a pilot now that they’d broken atmo and set their courses. There wasn’t much that could go wrong, short of breaking out of FTL in the middle of a planet’s gravitational pull. 

Despite the improbability of that happening, Miranda double checked her computations. Then triple checked. On her fifth time through she knew she was being irrational, and forced herself from the chair. 

There wasn’t much of anywhere to go, though. The M2-89 was a civilian class passenger ship, and fairly small one at that. It had enough space for twenty people, crew included, and their cargo…assuming no one brought more than a couple bags. Miranda didn’t know who the ship had belonged to before, and didn’t much care now.

Among the multitude available on Sanctuary, this ship had been the only one with a good stock of fuel that hadn’t already been retrofitted with Cerberus markings or torn apart for scrap.  
Shepard had, of course, offered them passage on the Normandy. It had been tempting. 

At the same time, Miranda could make good use of a ship. Six months of fake IDs and channeling funds through thousands of channels to avoid having her movements tracked was beginning to wear at her. This opportunity was a little too good to pass up, even if it would take a veritable ton of elbow grease to make this beast a home.

Which reminded her…

She plopped into a seat against one wall of the cabin and propped her feet up on the middle-aisle seat facing her. Flicking on her omni-tool display, Miranda pulled up the feed still running in the background, and glanced over the readouts. No go. His security was much too tight for a simple VI; she’d have to bypass it herself.

It would be so simple to write her father off as merely “insane.” Shepard had, and Oriana seemed to think the same. That was such a convenient, easy answer for what he done, who he had been. 

As much as Miranda hated to admit it, Henry Lawson did fit the basic definition of a sociopath: cunning, manipulative, charming, lack of any and all empathy, viewing everyone and everything else as mere tools for his own gratification. A complete incapacity for love.

Her brow furrowed at the strings of code flashing across the display, and she chewed her bottom lip. It was a terrible habit; one he’d hated. 

She flinched. For a moment the sting of her cheek was all too real, the pain in her jaw, the taste of blood on her lips. The first and only time he’d hit her, but she’d never stopped believing he’d do it again. 

Of course he hadn’t. Henry Lawson had been nothing if not fastidious about his property.

Shaking her head clear, Miranda sighed and closed her eyes against the harsh fluorescents of the cabin. She considered turning them off altogether, but then her omni-tool would strain her eyes and she needed to work. Pull yourself together, Miranda. Get this done. Then you can angst all you like.

Shoving her thoughts aside, Miranda took a deep breath and returned to combing through data pools and inputting algorithms. She worked through back doors and roadblocks until, three or four hours later, she found what she’d been looking for. Miranda stared at her screen a moment, then dismissed her omni-tool. 

Rubbing her eyes, she stood long enough to retrieve a bottle of water from the cubicle of a kitchen’s pint-sized fridge, hit the cabin lights, and plopped back down in the pilot’s chair. 

The star-field through the unshuttered view-port was the only source of light. A faint hum of engines was the only noise to break the silence. Everything was…peaceful. 

Miranda propped her feet up on the dash and sipped her water. 

Peaceful. She hadn’t felt anything resembling the word in a very, very long time. It was easier now, with Oriana safely tucked in bed and that man dead. By her own hands, even.

She looked at them now, perfect nails and unblemished skin. Long fingers. Pianist-fingers, as her father had said. Hands that tore men apart from a distance. Hands so quick to pull a trigger.

“Out, damn’d spot,” she murmured. A wobbly laugh followed, cut short against her lips. Closing her eyes again, Miranda let the tightness come to her chest, her throat. She swallowed thickly and pressed her lips against the sound of it, but the tears came none the less. Her knees drew slowly to her and she folded into them, until the starlight was obscured by her hair. 

It tore at her insides like a wild thing, just as it had the night she’d left him, and as it hadn’t any time since. When it was done it left every inch of her bruised in a way no one would ever see but would be felt nonetheless. 

Swiping sodden hair from her cheeks, Miranda recalled her omni-tool and hit input the final sequence. The program jumped to life with an all too cheerful chirp. In a matter of moments her father’s accounts would be cleared, his properties bought, and stocks sold through a tangled series of accounts until it landed in the account she’d set up for Oriana years ago, days before she’d taken the child. It had never been touched. Miranda had never known how to go about giving it to her. Now, at least, it wouldn’t require explanation. 

And Oriana would be free of her. Free of him. 

Miranda went to the bathroom and splashed water onto her face, hoping to clean off the damage before Oriana awoke. And for a moment she stared at herself in the mirror, wondering who it was she saw. Herself…or her father?


End file.
